


a fool addicted

by nishtabel



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Implied Dimitri/Sylvain/Felix, Implied Sylvain/OMC, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:28:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24415159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishtabel/pseuds/nishtabel
Summary: A year after securing peace with Sreng, Sylvain struggles to shake the memories of his mission.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 19
Kudos: 58





	a fool addicted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cocksure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cocksure/gifts).



> in which sylvain seduced sreng's leader for peace, and enjoyed it a bit too much.

Sylvain has been back in Fodlan for exactly one year when the delegation from Sreng announces its plans to visit.

Dimitri warns him. “We must stress the importance of this peace treaty,” he says, a low, apologetic rumble. “After all you sacrificed, I—we cannot let it go to waste.”

Numbly, Sylvain nods. _All I sacrificed_ , he thinks. Even pulled tight against Dimitri’s body—Dimitri’s bare chest to his back, one leg curled protectively over Sylvain’s own—Sylvain can feel the phantom wandering of hands, cold and cloying on his naked skin. He’d spent nearly a month in Sreng, and though a year has passed, he still wakes with an ache in his jaw and the terrible, humiliating need to be _filled_.

“When—” Sylvain coughs, mouth dry from sleep. Dimitri curls tighter around him. “When are they coming?”

Dimitri presses a kiss below his ear, tilts his face to reach the angle of Sylvain’s jaw. Lust swirls in Sylvain’s gut, heavy and hot, and he feels his cock twitch between his thighs. Dimitri teases him with teeth and tongue, a bite at his earlobe, a thumb at his jeweled nipples. Sylvain’s body responds like a cat in sunlight: a deep stretch, _yearning_ , body stirring only for Dimitri’s touch.

“Next week,” Dimitri murmurs, already flipping Sylvain to face him. “You need only greet them, nothing more.”

Sylvain’s gut twists at the idea, an existential kind of dread, but—Dimitri’s hand is sweet against his chest, his belly, his cock, and Sylvain longs to follow orders. To make Dimitri happy.

“Yes,” Sylvain breathes, an answer to Dimitri’s unspoken question— _Is that alright? Can I trust you to do that?_ —as he arches into Dimitri’s touch.

Blindly, he reaches for Felix, intent on bringing him into their mix of limbs and teeth and soft, open mouths, but Dimitri kisses his throat in apology. “Felix left early this morning,” he says, breath tickling the sensitive skin of Sylvain’s throat. Dimitri places a chaste kiss just below his Adam’s apple. “I suppose he thought he’d leave all the fun to us.”

Sylvain shivers and rolls his hips against Dimitri’s thigh. He could get off just like this, he knows—he does, some mornings when Dimitri and Felix are both in a hurry—but right now, there’s little he wants more than to be pinned and fucked and claimed.

It’s a shameful need, one he doesn’t often verbalize, but Dimitri has gotten better at reading him in the last six months they’ve shared a bed. The three of them had fallen into it haphazardly, accidentally, a bit chaotically; Sylvain still sleeps best next to warm bodies, coiling sweet and vulnerable between their scents.

He hisses now as Dimitri nuzzles the curve of his jaw, follows his nose with the scrape of teeth. Sylvain moans, an airy, breathy little noise, and curls his fingers in Dimitri’s hair to tug him closer. (Hears— _oh, little Gautier, you’re eager this morning._ Sees—a flash of dark hair beneath his hands, pale eyes and paler skin that move to take him apart.)

“Dimitri,” he sighs, because it’s easier when he says his name aloud. A reminder to them both. “Dimitri, please—”

“I know, sweetheart,” Dimitri murmurs, mouth hot and wet against Sylvain’s collarbone. Sylvain tingles all over at the pet name, nerves alight with praise. “Oh, baby, I know. Let me take care of you, alright?”

Sylvain keens, high and tight behind clenched teeth. “Fuck, Dimitri—”

Dimitri’s hand slips between their bodies to palm Sylvain’s cock, fully hard and drooling against his belly. The calluses on Dimitri’s fingers, the rough sandpaper grip of his palm, makes the friction all the sweeter—it _burns_ , matches the fire that roars so bright in his belly. Dimitri knows Sylvain likes it rough, _rougher_ , knows Sylvain will take anything Dimitri offers and beg for more, and this morning, he’s in a giving mood. Sylvain is thankful for that.

Sylvain’s mouth opens easily beneath Dimitri’s own, warm and wet and yielding. This is how he likes it: with Dimitri shifting on top, a hard press of fingers at his jaw and throat. He had to beg for this kind of treatment, once upon a time, and while Dimitri remains a bit uncomfortable with it, he only wants to serve Sylvain.

“Dimitri,” Sylvain whines, “Dima, Dima, I—” He breathless already, a wanton mess as his naked cock catches against the drawstring of Dimitri’s pants. He’s wet, open, ready—he’d begging them to fuck him last night, first Felix and then, loosened with cum and spit and the rolling aftershocks of his first orgasm, Dimitri. He clenches at the thought of it, of Dimitri filling him again, and with one bold hand, he guides Dimitri’s fingers to cup the swell of his ass. “Fuck me,” he pleads, voice broken and heavy still with sleep. The shame will come later. “Fuck me—”

“Shh,” Dimitri whispers. His teeth drag so sweetly against the shell of Sylvain’s ear. “I said I’d take care of you. You’ve been so good, Sylvain, let me help you.”

The praise lights against each nerve in Sylvain’s body, bright and beautiful and just shy of painful. He believes that Dimitri means it, that Dimitri thinks him _good beautiful perfect_ , but if he _knew_ —

“Please,” Sylvain breathes instead, as the vision of dark hair and darker beard swims behind his eyelids. He needs to be full, needs to be used, needs Dimitri to command him and give him a purpose. _Please_ , he thinks, even as he feels Dimitri’s fingers slip one-two-three into his messy hole. _Please_ , as though those fingers could ever compare to Ainmire’s.

“You’re still so wet,” Dimitri says, filthy and low. His fingers curl inside of Sylvain, a wet squelch that leaves Sylvain panting. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were eager for more.”

_Little Gautier_ , Ainmire whispers. _My sweet, little pet. Do you think you can take another? Cairbre_ —

“Fuck me, _please_ ,” Sylvain gasps, because he can’t _take it_ , not like this, not with so much empty space in his head. He needs to be full, distracted, stuffed by someone else— _Dimitri_ —

Dimitri hums. “Patience, sweetheart.” The words still sound foreign from his mouth, but Sylvain knows he’s trying. “Let me just—”

“ _Now_ ,” Sylvain demands, because each time he closes his eyes, he sees the beard-belly-cock of Ainmire. The taut foreskin just below the swollen head. The hot-brand press of his cock against Sylvain’s entrance, already fucked open and swollen and _greedy_.

Dimitri pauses only for a moment. “Yes,” he says, with a single kiss to Sylvain’s forehead. Sylvain wants to scream. “Of course.”

Dimitri lines up with a grunt, his cockhead pressing hesitantly against Sylvain’s hole. Sylvain feels his ass clench, desperately, a wild attempt to suck Dimitri’s cock in deeper, deeper. “ _Please_ ,” he whines, because he needs this, needs Dimitri.

“Yes,” Dimitri says again, and Sylvain watches his throat bob. Dimitri is so afraid of enjoying this, the wrecking of Sylvain’s body. Slowly, he begins to press inside.

“Fff _fuck_ ,” cries Sylvain, head falling back against the pillows. No matter how many times he’s felt this, he never remembers the pure pleasure, the euphoria of it. The rapture of it of it: the way his mind and body and maybe his soul are settled and sated. He feels—soft, like this. Full. Whole.

Dimitri never lasts long. He starts out slow, gentle, one hand cupping the curve of Sylvain’s jaw, but that’s never enough. Sylvain whimpers and whines, bites clumsily at Dimitri’s fingers until Dimitri shifts and shoves two into Sylvain’s mouth. This, just like this—with Dimitri’s fingers pressing down against his tongue, his thumb hooked under Sylvain’s chin as Sylvain begins to drool—

This is how Sylvain comes. His orgasm builds rapidly, wildly, an unpredictable and unbreakable thing. It crests through his body and pulls him under, smothering him in the blissful mindlessness that follows. For a few, precious moments, Sylvain thinks of nothing but Dimitri: his messy blond hair, the sweet dusting of freckles across his nose—the shy, gentle curve of his mouth as he bites at Sylvain’s throat, teeth pointed and cruel—the press of his hard belly against Sylvain’s own, the thick rug of dark hair that covers his chest—

Sylvain’s eyes fly open with a shout just as Dimitri comes, cock pulsing deep within Sylvain. Dimitri’s lips are parted, brows drawn together against the searing heat of his orgasm. He thrusts once, twice, thrice more within Sylvain, before unceremoniously pulling out and collapsing beside him.

For a long moment, they breathe.

“Thank you,” Dimitri murmurs, because he always does. As though Sylvain does this for his benefit.

Sylvain grunts. “You started it,” he says, because he has to place blame.

Sweet and slow as molasses, Dimitri smiles. His teeth are white, clean. Blunt. “I’m a lucky man,” he says, and Sylvain’s heart sinks low, low into his stomach, where it burns amongst the remnants of last night’s dinner. With a shy wink, Dimitri adds, “Felix will be sad he missed it.”

“I imagine he will.” Sylvain presses himself hard against Dimitri, as though that will make the yearning go away. As though the hasty crush of skin on molten skin will cure the filth that sings just below his every thought. Then: “You ought to join him soon.”

Dimitri’s smile fades, but the mirth doesn’t disappear from his eyes. He’s always so playful, so _light_ after sex. Sylvain feels heavy as a stone. “I suppose I must,” Dimitri agrees. He presses a gentle kiss between Sylvain’s sweaty brows.

Sylvain watches Dimitri move to stand, shoulders popping as he stretches his arms above his head. It’s a pleasant sight, all pale skin and hard, muscled lines. The strength of his back stands in sharp relief, and Sylvain leans forward with an appreciative sigh. _If only this could be enough_ , his mind whispers, traitorous and cruel.

He hides the souring of his expression amongst the pillows, before Dimitri can turn and see him. Sylvain gets lucky this morning; Dimitri seems content to wander peacefully about his room, dressing in little hurry and with small regard to Sylvain’s presence.

By the time he leaves, Sylvain is pretending to have fallen back asleep. He thinks: _Ainmire would have never left me here alone_. He thinks: _He would have forced Cairbre to bathe me, escort me to the war room._ He thinks: _He would have used me for something better._

With his heart in his throat, he thinks: _Ainmire never should have sent me back_.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you all for reading! as always, you can find me on twitter at [@nishtabel](https://twitter.com/nishtabel).


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